


Complementary Colours

by deerna



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Asra (The Arcana) Route Spoilers, Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Dysphoria, F/M, Jewelry, Light Masochism, Mention of Piercings, Not Wearing Underwear, Post-Canon, Submission, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 19:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20680862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deerna/pseuds/deerna
Summary: The aqueduct is coming along nicely, the wedding is in two weeks, Nadia is losing her mind and Julian is trying to keep everything together, himself included. A wedding gown, a few insecurities and the wonderful feeling of everything clicking back into place, where it belongs.A shiver ran down Julian's spine. He would always wanted it to hurt, because that was who he was, what got him off, but—it was his duty to take care of Nadia, too. He knelt on the soft comforter, took her hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her palm.





	Complementary Colours

**Author's Note:**

> My first Arcana fic, and it's Nadia/Julian. If you know me, you're shocked, I'm sure. I had to fill a 'crossdressing' prompt for a challenge, but it's not really crossdressing if men in Prakra normally wear gowns, is it?
> 
> This fic is loosely set one year post-canon, following Asra’s route. In the Upright end it’s implied that Nadia and Julian grew pretty close, with Julian ‘fussing’ over her while they work at the aqueduct project... and I ran with it.
> 
> Hope you like it.

The New Masquerade had been the greatest event of all times.

After the Plague, and Lucio’s mysterious death, and their beloved Countess’ strange and lengthy malady, Vesuvia had withdrawn in itself, like an animal hiding in the depths of the woods to lick at its wounds after an attack from a vicious predator; but the party had been met with unprecedented enthusiasm. Although with all the things happening with Lucio’s ghost and the Devil trying to mess with the very fabric of reality, the relevance of this particular piece of information had momentarily taken second place in the great scheme of things, it didn’t fail to be appreciated for what it was: incredibly good news, a sign that the city was starting to come out of its shell. After years of famine and drought, Vesuvia was ready to grow again.

But even the most beautiful and eager garden cannot bloom without water—and thus the aqueduct overhaul project was put in motion.

To Julian’s great surprise, Nadia still had the old plans they had started piecing together when Lucio was still alive and ruling over the city; at the time they had been nothing more than intellectual exercises, bits of theoretical solutions to practical problems that were just fun among like-minded acquaintances, between Julian’s medical studies and Nadia’s courtly duties—but then, one year after the New Masquerade and Lucio’s definitive demise, the new aqueduct system was turning into a very tangible reality.

“Everything is going exactly as planned,” Julian babbled excitedly that afternoon, pulling the register out of its spot on the shelf so he could note down the progress that had been done that day at the construction site. “Aisha and Selim have placed the purification spells on the main arteries, Vinci said that all the new locks are in perfect working order, canal construction is going swimmingly, and I personally tested the water quality in fifty different spots. Not a single sign of contamination! If we can keep the pace up, the whole network will be ready by the end of the month—!”

“—If we didn't plan on getting married in two weeks, you mean,” Nadia answered, her tone amused but slightly strained. “Did you forget about that?”

Julian coughed. “No, of course not. How are the preparations going?” When he turned around to glance at her, he saw that Nadia was curled up in her reading spot under the window; she had a book open on her lap, but her eyes were closed, and her long fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose, pushing gently along the bone.

He frowned as he cleared the table, collecting all the papers that were strewn around and careful not to spill any ink on them, then sat down on the edge of the footrest, close to Nadia but not crowding her. “Headache?” he asked, gentle, caressing her ankle.

“Yes. I mean, not yet, but I feel one brewing just behind my eyes,” Nadia groaned. “I just found out _this morning_ that Father has taken over the wedding preparations because he thinks that we should follow Prakra’s customs for the celebration, after all. Turns out that while I have been doing things like booking and placing orders and checking logistics, Father has been undoing everything behind my back for _weeks _now, and as much as I tried this afternoon to un-undo all his sabotaging my efforts have been for nought so far—so I gave up. Apparently we’re having a Prakra-style wedding.”

Julian grimaced. “I thought he was okay with letting Pasha and the staff handle it?”

Nadia’s expression darkened. “He was, but then Mother started putting ideas in his mind. I think she was planning this all along, because making it about Prakra would make a political statement—sort of turning Vesuvia into a smaller Prakra, matriarchal power and all that—but she waited until now to tell me about it because she knows I won’t be able to change Father's mind again, not this close to the wedding late.” She sighed, opened her eyes and turned to Julian with a pained look in her eyes. “Father _adores_ Prakra’s wedding traditions, he’s been driving me _crazy_ all afternoon and I just don't have the energy to deal with him anymore. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You were the one saying that your family was probably going to take over the wedding as soon as they found out about it, so—self-fulfilling prophecy, right there?”

“I remember what I've said, but this is not just _my_ wedding. It’s unfair that you didn't have a say into it.” She grabbed his arm. “What about you? What about _your_ traditions?”

“I’m sure Pasha and Mazelinka will be happy to just celebrate along with whatever is going to happen,” Julian deflected smoothly, trying to reassure her. “I knew what I was doing when I accepted to marry the Countess.”

To be fair, he had never really _thought_ about getting married, let alone getting married into _royalty_. He didn’t even think he would have ever fallen in love again, after the disastrous mess that had been his fling with Asra all those years ago; the feelings he found himself having for Nadia had come to him almost as a surprise, and even more surprising had been finding out that Nadia returned those feelings. As it was, he would’ve been happy to live in the Palace as her personal physician-sometimes-lover forever.

And Nadia would've been happy to let him, too, if she hadn't been the Countess of Vesuvia; but there were duties and obligations that people expected her to fulfill, and at some diplomat’s umpteenth attempt to get her engaged to their offspring, they had decided to get married. Later Julian would say that it had been his idea even, just so he wouldn't have to watch Nadia cringe through some third-rate nobleman’s attempts at flirting.

Nadia still looked deeply unconvinced. “Are you sure? Prakran weddings are—_a lot.”_

_“_Absolutely,” Julian insisted. He grinned. “I can take whatever you throw at me.”

“Bravado isn't the same thing as bravery.” She laughed as Julian spluttered, feigning outrage, but then she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for being so patient with my family, and for taking care of the aqueduct while I’m figuring it out—I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I told you, there’s no need. Just relax, okay?”

She huffed. “I don't want to relax, I want to go back to work—_real_ work.”

Julian tutted. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Oh, really? I have no choice, then. ” She sprawled more comfortably on the cushions. “I need something for this headache, doctor. Come here and kiss me.”

He shook his head fondly, and moved to straddle her. “Just so you know, as your physician I cannot recommend kissing as a headache remedy. It’s not medically sound.”

“I don't give a damn,” Nadia answered, airily, and caressed his face, lifting his eyepatch out of the way. 

She took no time to unbutton his jacket and pushing it off his shoulders, and to untuck his shirt from the waist of his pants, so she could sneak her fingers under the fabric. Her eyes were warm and dark, and Julian felt his face grow hot as he bent down to kiss her, hands tangling in her soft hair.

The library door creaked open with a loud noise. Julian couldn't have jumped off Nadia more quickly if she had pushed a hot coal in his mouth. Namar, who had entered the room with Nadia’s name poised on his tongue, blinked and smiled, the hand coming up to his mouth failing to cover the amused expression on his face and the twinkle in his eye.

“So sorry to _interrupt_,” the Royal Consort of Prakra said, eyeing Julian's state of disarray and ignoring Nadia’s annoyed groan, “but I need to steal your handsome fiancé for a moment.”

“Can't this wait tomorrow? Julian has had a very long day and I’m sure he doesn't have any more energy to dedicate to _frivolous_ matters—” Nadia started, getting up from her seat and glaring daggers at her father.

“It’s fine,” Julian quickly interjected before Namar could process and reply, pulling the eyepatch back into place and haphazardly shoving the tails of his shirt back in his pants. “Is this about the wedding? Nadia was just telling me that, uh, you’ve been doing all the organizing and it's going to be a traditional rite?”

He could almost _hear_ Nadia rolling her eyes beside him, but Namar seemed pleased.

“Yes!” The Royal Consort of Prakra joined his hands in a single, excited clap. “I hope you don't mind, I know that foreigners think that Prakra celebrations are a little _extravagant_, but—”

“I remember,” Julian said with a smile, while still attempting (and failing, if the Consort’s amused expression was of any indication) to inconspicuously straighten his clothes. “I've lived in Prakra for a few years when I was studying for my license. I’m sure Vesuvia will appreciate the atmosphere.” He’d never been to an actual wedding—those were apparently very private affairs, when they didn't concern the Royal family—but he remembered how colorful and loud Prakra got whenever there was something to celebrate.

“I’m so glad you have fond memories of our beloved city,” Namar said, beaming at him for a moment, before turning serious and intense. “Now, business. Outfits, to be more exact. In normal circumstances, I would have already called Ravi for this, but he's at a fashion show on the other side of the country and we’re a bit tight on schedule so we’ll have to make do. Hopefully you don't mind wearing borrowed clothes? I’d need you to try it on though, to know if it needs alterations of any kind—”

“Uh,” Julian said. “Sure, I don't have a problem with that.”

Nadia’s hand squeezed his elbow. “You don't have to agree to anything that makes you uncomfortable,” she told him firmly, but she was glancing at her father.

“Of course!” Namar smiled. “This is also _your_ wedding, it wouldn't do to have you miserable on what it's supposed to be the happiest day of your life, would it? That would pretty much defeat the purpose.”

Nadia was still looking vaguely concerned, which was entirely concerning all by itself, but Julian was determined. He covered Nadia's hand with his, squeezing back. “I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”

*

Julian couldn't handle it. Nadia had been right, and he had been a fool. He also couldn't find it in himself to admit to the Royal Consort (“Call me Namar! We’re going to be family very soon, after all!”) that the idea of wearing a _dress_ in front of _thousands of people_, many of which knew him on a first name basis, made him uncomfortable. Mostly because he seemed to have swallowed his tongue in a panic at some point between the library and the room he shared with Nadia, where the outfit rehearsal was happening, but also because Namar looked very pleased with himself, and Julian _really_ wanted him to like him, dammit.

But the dress was—well. A dress, for starters. And it was very long, but also kind of sheer, and there were deep splits coming up along the sides, and—

“I never had the chance to wear this particular gown—it's a little snug on me and most definitely _not_ my colour—but I always bring it with me when I travel because you never know when you need a formal burgundy outfit. I’m so glad I didn't throw it away! It works _perfectly_ as a wedding gown, although it's a bit more simple than what I would like,” Namar prattled on, “but I suspect you're not the intricate embroidery type, anyway.”

“Not really, no,” Julian answered, trying to banish the hesitation from his voice and his face.

“I had the feeling. Anyway— don't worry, I know exactly what you're thinking.” Namar came closer, voice low and warm, reassuring. “You’re not too pale for this shade of red, and it _won't_ clash horribly with your _gorgeous_ auburn hair. Listen to this old man: this oil-spill black wrap will make _all_ the difference. Nadia's outfit will be all greens and whites and you’ll complement each other in the most lovely way. It’s traditional, you know? Complementary colours for complementary souls.”

“How lovely.” Swallowing thickly, Julian gingerly grabbed the garments he was being handed. “I was actually thinking that since I wear black and red all the time, it looked like a perfect fit.”

Namar clapped. “Excellent! Try that on while I go get the jewellery,” he exclaimed, and glided to the other side of the room to rummage through a small chest covered in shimmering stones.

Julian sighed. _Better get this over with quickly_, he thought, starting to pull his clothes off. He pulled the dress over his head, and noticed immediately that the fabric was much heavier than it had looked at first sight, and—to his relief—that it was also noticeably more layered and less sheer than he had feared. It felt smooth and cool against his skin, and once he got used to the sensation of nakedness around his lower half, it was actually not that unpleasant.

Before he could start figuring out how to wrap the shiny black shawl, Namar was back to fuss on him, an alarming amount of fine golden chains wrapped around his left hand. “Oh, you look lovely,” he breathed out, absently fixing the way the fabric fell on his shoulders. “Let me bedazzle you before we put the wrap on. Oh, and off with those, you're not supposed to wear _anything_ under this!” he chuckled, gesturing to his smallclothes that peeked a little from the deep slits that came up all the way to his hips.

Julian felt his face grow hot. “Uh. But—”

“Don't worry, the fabric is thick enough to cover the good—this is not _that_ kind of wedding.”

A million questions rising to his lips but unwilling to ask any of them, Julian obeyed. Pulling his underwear down in front of a man who scrutinized his every single movement brought back inappropriate and uncomfortably embarrassing memories, but he tried to put them out of his mind. He _wasn't_ naked, after all.

“Here, look for yourself, you can't see a thing, aside from your _beautiful_ hip bones.” Namar pulled him in front of the full length mirror resting against the wall. “And your very nice legs. See how the slits in the fabric make them look even longer?”

It was a little startling, but he didn't look half bad, to be honest. He was well-covered in deep red fabric—in a shade that almost matched his hair—from throat to toes; his chest and legs seemed awfully pale against the rich colour; but he also appeared tall and slight, like a long ribbon of fire, white-hot at the extremities. He slowly turned around, watching himself move in the mirror, a little speechless at how _different_ he looked from his usual self.

“The cut-out on the back is such a nice touch. You look like a bird, all elegant bones and wiry muscles,” Namar sighed happily. “I’m getting you feathers, next time. A whole mantle of them, on naked shoulders, in _gold_.”

Julian grinned, and the figure made of fire grinned back. “I wore feathers at the Masquerade.”

“Oh? Oh, I remember now! The Raven mask. Very nice work, that costume. Nadia's seamstress’ work, I assume? She's always been good with feathers—Anyway. How are you feeling it? Do you like it?”

“It’s different,” Julian said.

“It is, isn't it?” Namar answered absently, while he untangled a length of thin golden chain from his wrist. “Now be a love and turn around, let me fasten all these for you—”

When the Royal Consort had finished wrapping him in jewellery, occasionally slipping his hands where Julian had never wanted his father-in-law’s hand to slip, small green stones that caught the light whenever he moved were tickling him on his chest, between the shoulder blades, behind the ears, on the thighs and around the ankles. The wrap was carefully set over his shoulder and around his waist, and a pair of black slippers completed the look.

Namar still looked at him like there was something missing.

“We can probably find you a decorated eyepatch,” he said, finally. “How do you feel about make up? I know Nadia said not to push it, but I really feel—” He interrupted himself, a worried crease suddenly appearing on his brow. “Are you uncomfortable at all? Is this too much? I did promise to pull back if—”

“I’m fine,” Julian said, and he was a little startled to find that he wasn't lying. “I never wore makeup, but we can try. If I don't like it we can hold it off on the wedding. That’s why we're doing rehearsals, isn’t it?”

Namar smiled at him, cupping warm, smooth hands around his jaw in an affectionate gesture. “You're such a darling boy, Julian. I’ll go get my powders and I’ll be right back,” he said, and he was dashing out of the room before Julian could answer.

Chuckling to himself, Julian shook his head. Namar really was his daughter’s father; there were rare occasions when Nadia got exactly like that while in the middle of one of their projects, as she wildly chased an idea or a vision, when the leash on her usually tight self-control slipped from her hand. Julian loved her for that, among many other things.

Feeling a little silly, he struck a pose in the mirror and pictured them on their wedding day, him standing at her side, a vision in green that he still didn't know what looked like. The Consort to his Countess; dressed like that he looked anything but a doctor. Dressed like that he looked—well, like himself, but not _quite_. He smoothed the fabric over his stomach, once again checking that his crotch wasn't visible through the clothing; it was still pretty obvious that he was naked under the gown. He still didn't know what to feel about that. He wondered if it should’ve bothered him; the fact that it didn't, when he had felt so uncomfortable earlier, confused him. What if—?

A knock and the sound of the door opening pulled him from his musings.

“It’s me. Are you still—oh.” Nadia's reflection in the mirror peeked from behind his shoulder. She looked shocked for a moment, and then a crease appeared between her eyebrows.

Julian ignored the spike of anxiety in his gut and turned around, feeling self-conscious but still pulling out a shit-eating grin. “Isn't bad luck for the spouses to see each other in their wedding outfits before the wedding itself?” he joked, cocking a hip with a confidence he didn't feel.

"Not for a traditional Prakra celebration,” Nadia deadpanned with a raised brow. She looked around, and noticed that Namar wasn't in the room. “Father isn't with you?”

“He's getting a few things from his rooms,” Julian answered, vague and bright. Too bright. He suddenly felt nervous. He smoothed the fabric of the gown down his hips, hoping he wasn't getting any sweat on it, unsure where to put his hands. "I’m sure he's going to come back very soon. Did you need anything? Is your headache getting worse?”

“I’m okay, I just came to check how things were going.” Nadia walked closer, her eyes roaming down the length of the dress before coming up to look straight at him. She huffed a chuckle. “You couldn't tell him no, could you?”

Julian felt himself blush. “I’m just—he was really enthusiastic, I didn't want to ruin—”

“This is why I didn’t want my family to get too involved with the wedding planning,” Nadia said with a sigh. She ran her hands down his arms, awfully gentle. “I promise you he won't be offended if you tell him you don’t like it. He’ll probably be overjoyed, even. He likes puzzles, he's very like me in that sense, except I like mind breakers and he likes fashion crimes—”

“So you don't like it,” Julian blurted out, his voice a little too high.

Nadia blinked. “What does have to do with anything? If _you_ don't like it, it doesn't matter what I—wait. Do you _like_ it?”

“I—to be honest, I don't know.” Julian shrugged, glancing between himself in the mirror and Nadia's expression. He touched her shoulders, her arms, telling himself that he didn't actually need the comfort, reassurance. “What do you think? Is it too much? Does it look like I broke into Asra’s shop and stole his wardrobe?”

“Of course it's too much, it’s _Prakran fashion_,” Nadia chuckled. “And Asra would _never _wear this much black.”

“Nadia." It came out a little strangled, instead of firm and annoyed, and Nadia's expression softened.

“My apologies, I was just teasing you.” She took a step closer, her voice quiet and low as she admitted, “I think you look stunning, honestly. Heartstopping. I genuinely forgot how to breathe for a moment when I saw you, earlier.”

Julian swallowed as she came even closer, pushing him back until he was flushed to the mirror. The polished surface was cool against his back, but he could feel the heat starting to pool in his gut and raising to his face. He bit his lip as he watched Nadia's eyes turn into fire, her painted smile dangerous and liquid.

“I like the jewellery,” she continued, slow and sensuous, as she slipped her hands lower. She stroke up his bare legs, playing with the small stones attached to his thighs and following the path of fine golden chains up to his hip bones. “I like how easily I can do _this_.” Julian's breath caught in his throat when her long fingers dipped under the fabric, the pads of her thumbs rubbing light circles near the base of his hardening cock, while her other fingernails dug painfully in his sides.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sudden pain sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. He squeezed his eyes shut, fingers gripping Nadia's shoulders like they were the only thing keeping him from melting into the mirror. “Nadia—”

“You're so tense,” she whispered against the column of her neck, warm breath tickling him. “You've been working yourself to the bone these past weeks, and I've been useless—let me help. Let me take care of you.”

A part of Julian—the one that shivered every time Nadia touched him, the one that sought pain like a leech seeking blood, the one that loosened his tongue and that sometimes frightened him—wanted to do just that: it wanted him to relax under Nadia's fingers, it wanted him to drop on his knees and beg for her to ruin him, it wanted him to roll over and _take it_ until he was worthy of her love, but—

“Wait, Nadia,” he stuttered out as he took her wrists in his hands, gently pulling them from his waist, pushing her away.

Concern written all over her face, Nadia froze in her tracks. “What? Are you alright? Did I—”

“Everything's fine. More than fine. Too fine, even,” he reassured her, quickly. “And I'd love to continue, but if we ruin this dress your father is going to _hang me _and _make it stick_, this time.”

Nadia laughed, relieved. “Should I be worried that you were thinking about pleasing my father while I had my hands under your skirt?” she teased him, her eyes comically wide as she feigned shock.

Julian let out a distressed noise.

“I’m jesting. You're right, it wouldn't do to waste all my father’s efforts just for a little fun. He would never let us live it down,” she said with a shudder. She winked at him. “What do you say I help you out of this thing, and we continue this in the bedroom?”

“Thank you,” Julian sighed, unwrapping the shawl from his shoulders.

“You're welcome. After all, we’ll have all the time to make a mess of our wedding outfits after the ceremony, when they’ll have served their purpose and it won't matter anymore,” Nadia said brightly as she took the wrap from his hands and folded it in a neat square. “Oh, leave the jewellery on. We can take those off _later_.”

Careful not to get the delicate fabric snagged on the golden chains, Julian slipped out of the dress with Nadia's help. She gently laid it on a chair, and then she came back for Julian, stopping to look at him for a moment before putting her hands back on his skin, where they belonged.

“Now, where were we?” she purred. “Want to keep going, or get me naked first? I feel rather overdressed, right now.”

Julian bit his lip, and once again glanced at the mirror behind him. There was something about his being completely naked, just a faint glitter of gold and green tracing lines on his skin, and her being still fully dressed in lilacs and blues, that made him feel weak in the knees. “Keep everything on. Make me work for it.”

Nadia smiled, an elegant eyebrow raised at him. “As you like. Let’s go.”

They left the dressing room and slipped into the adjacent bedroom. The sun was starting to dip behind the horizon, bathing the room in deep reds and oranges, painting dark shadows to hang around the four poster bed.

Once he was laying on the soft mattress, Julian relaxed, letting Nadia rearrange his limbs without opposing resistance, pliant like a doll. He hissed every time she dragged her fingernails down his chest, his sides, the soft flesh of his inner thighs. His cock, flushed to full hardness, lay ignored against his belly, leaking moisture.

“I’m surprised you never thought of getting piercings,” Nadia mused, flicking a nipple with her thumbnail before pressing a kiss to it. “They were pretty popular in Prakra a few years ago.”

“I did, actually,” Julian admitted, “but um, I bailed just before the lady at the shop could get the needle on my skin.”

Nadia curled on her side, her lilac wrap billowing around her hip like a cloud. “Let me guess,” she mused, following with her nail the path of one of the golden chains. She seemed to enjoy herself, captivated by the raised scratches.

“I _didn't_ embarrass myself, if that's what you were going to say. But the lady was explaining what she was about to do, and then I realised how _painful_ it was going to be, and—well, let’s say I changed my mind, because I would've totally embarrassed myself if I let her do the thing, yes.” He coughed, a little embarrassed. “That, and after the curse they wouldn't be sticking around for long, so I never tried again.”

Nadia leaned down to kiss him, her lips soft and warm; a silent reward for his willingness to share. “I won't pretend I understand this preference of yours, you know that,” she said, shaking her head. She sat up, her crimson eyes serious and attentive as she looked at him up and down, void of any judgement. “But I’ll always give you what you need from me.”

A shiver ran down Julian's spine. He would always wanted it to hurt, because that was who he was, what got him off, but—it was his duty to take care of Nadia, too. He knelt on the soft comforter, took her hand in his, and pressed a kiss to her palm.

“I need you to use me,” he whispered against his skin. Relinquishing control. Giving himself up.

Nadia paused, smiled, and kissed him again.

*

“I feel kind of guilty for ghosting your father like that,” Julian admitted later that evening, while they were having a late dinner on the balcony. “I hope he didn't take offence.”

Nadia, hair loose around her shoulders and only her favourite sheer robe clinging to her skin to protect her from the cool breeze, laughed, beautiful and serene under the moonlight. “I had a servant deliver him a note when I had them fetch dinner,” she reassured him, “but I’m sure he had an inkling of what happened. We weren't exactly _quiet_.”

Busying himself with a piece of bread and some kind of spread, Julian carefully avoided looking at her in the eye, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was probably blushing as red as his hair. “You kept saying that you wanted to hear me,” he muttered.

“I did, and you delivered _beautifully_,” Nadia replied.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, stealing bites from each other's plates, twining their fingers over the table, thighs touching as they pressed close on the loveseat. It had been a while since they had a quiet evening for themselves, between the wedding and the aqueduct and their other duties; stealing time like that was probably going to bite them in the ass, but it was nice until it lasted, until the night was upon them and the stars shone that brightly over their heads.

“Are you sure you're okay with all of this?” Nadia murmured.

Julian turned to look at her; her eyes were a colder red than usual with the moonlight reflected in them, almost fuchsia. “What do you mean?” he asked, 

“You know,” Nadia started again, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. “Mother tried to tell me that I was doing a mistake. Marrying is a political matter, when your family is royalty. You don’t marry for love, when a ring on your finger could mean war or peace. But I did. Twice, even, and Mother had tried to warn me back then, too.”

Julian swallowed. “Nadia—”

“I started doubting myself. I didn't know if I was okay with being the Countess of Vesuvia. I wasn't sure if Lucio's love was sincere—I still am not, to be honest, although I like believing that he loved me, in his special psychopath way—but you,” she turned to look at him. “I never had doubts about marrying _you_, and my family is _crazy_ and is taking over everything—”

“It's alright—”

“No, it's not. I want to give you _everything_ but I keep taking, and taking, and _taking_, and I keep wondering—even tonight. I wanted to do something nice for you, since you had been working so hard, and instead I had you take care of me, _again_—”

“Did I ever tell you about the only wedding I've been to?” Julian blurted, grabbing her hand.

Nadia blinked, so surprised by his non-sequitur she forgot to keep her line of thought going. “—what?”

Taking advantage of her confusion, Julian continued. “It was back when I worked as a physician on that pirate ship I told you about. We were in the middle of the ocean, and everyone's nerves were pretty rattled because we had been having some bad weather, very bad storms, to the point that we started fearing for our lives...we started thinking we weren't going to bring our bones back to shore. So I was patching the crew up after a particular scary episode, and the guy I was looking over, Ray, suddenly turns to me. ‘You know what, doctor?’ he says. ‘Fuck this bullshit. If I’m gonna die in the middle of the ocean, I’m gonna die a married man’. So he puts a hand around his mouth like so—” Julian mimicked the gesture, making his voice rough and dark as he spoke as Ray, “and he yells, ‘Kevin! Son of a bitch, get your ass over here and marry me!’

“And Kevin?” Nadia asked, tentatively engrossed in the story.

“And Kevin—I will _never_ forget this—Kevin, who was literally vomiting his guts over the side of the ship, straightened up, still a little green around the gills, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and gave Ray this _blinding_, happy smile and a thumbs up.”

Nadia wrinkled her nose. “Romantic.”

Julian grinned. “Very much so. He went back to vomiting right after. Ray was kind of pissed because he'd wanted to _literally_ get married right in that moment—but the Captain actually put their foot down at that, because ‘if you guys are gonna get married you're gonna do it with a proper wedding’, so everybody started working on it.”

“You're joking.”

“Nope. We were all put on ‘wedding preparation duty’. We eventually found two rings, two good jackets that didn't have too many holes in them for the grooms, and even enough cocoa to make drinks with, in lieu of cake. We didn't know if the weather was going to keep, so as soon as everything was ready we started the celebration.” He smiled, remembering. “I don't know if it’s something they do in Nevivon or if it's something that the Captain made up, but before the actual wedding we played this game — the Captain had Kevin hide in his cabin without telling Ray where he was, and Ray had to find him while we all tried to thwart his efforts. One of the deckhands got dressed up and pretended to be him, even. Eventually we had to cut the game short because the wind was picking up, the ship was starting to roil pretty heavily and Kevin was still feeling nauseous from earlier.”

“So they didn’t get married.”

“Oh no, they did. Very quickly. I think they broke some record. They exchanged rings, promised to love each other forever, kissed, grimaced because vomit kisses are never good kisses, and then ran to their positions before the ship could get wrecked.”

Nadia snorted. “Well, that sure was a story.”

“It’s a good story,” Julian conceded. “But the point I was trying to make is—Ray and Kevin didn't plan anything about the wedding. The crew took over because we loved them and we wanted them to have fun and we wanted the best for them. Ray didn't even like cocoa, but it was what we had around and he was happy to have it that day.”

Nadia shook her head. “I get what you're trying to say, but it’s different—you had to make do. You shouldn't have to settle—”

“The point is that I don't care much about how the wedding is gonna be like,” Julian interrupted her. “All I care about is that you chose to marry _me_. You chose me and I chose you and I hope we can be as happy as we can be. That's all I want.”

Nadia stared at him, stunned for a moment, then shook her head and wrapped him in a tight hug. “I don't know what I did to deserve you,” she murmured in his neck, “but I’m grateful.”

Julian huffed and rolled his eyes. “Besides literally rebuilding this city from the ground up, giving my job back and making everyone's life generally better by just existing?” He made a show of thinking it over. “Wait, you did all that and you got _me? _I think you got scammed. Did you keep the receipt? You might be able to give me back, you're still in time!”

She let him go and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “You idiot. Way to spoil the moment,” she complained. Her serious expression was ruined by the happy twinkle in her eyes.

Julian grinned back. “That's my specialty,” he quipped, and she laughed.

They leaned back in the loveseat, Nadia's hand searching for his. She pressed a kiss on the back of his hand and Julian wondered, as the stars shone on them, if that was what it meant to be truly happy.


End file.
